


If He’s Got Any Strengths

by PaulaMcG



Series: Professor at Hogwarts [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Creatures, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Gen, Hogwarts, Light Angst, M/M, Memories, Minor Remus Lupin/Original Male Character, Minor Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Nature, Professor Remus Lupin, Teaching, minor Severus Snape/Remus Lupin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23246746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaulaMcG/pseuds/PaulaMcG
Summary: Is Remus lucky – and is he strong enough – to encounter old grief and resentment as well as someone new on his first day of teaching at Hogwarts?
Series: Professor at Hogwarts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693546
Comments: 15
Kudos: 9





	If He’s Got Any Strengths

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the 10th HP Lucky Fest. Thank you once again, my wonderful beta Liseuse!  
> Remus and his students won't help me make any money.

“I believe you’ll find my classes interesting enough. Even fun, if you’re fascinated by uncanny and cunning creatures.”

Remus pauses, and scans the expectant faces of the twelve-year-olds staring up at him. No, some of them look already bored or distracted. All so neat and clean in their new, almost identical school robes, and carefree, not fiercely grateful for the chance to finally challenge their minds instead of looking after their siblings and toiling for nourishment out of the barren land around a refugee camp. 

Again, no. His persistent past-full-moon tiredness contributes to bringing back memories of the harshest conditions where he’s gained experience in teaching, and makes him compare the pupils. He must engage these ones.

Settling to sit on the edge of the teacher’s desk so as to rest his aching legs, he asks, “Who of you have enjoyed Care of Magical Creatures?”

Some hands go up, but there are suspicious frowns as well.

“Am I in the wrong classroom?” a boy’s voice exclaims, faking panic.

The whole back row of Slytherins snicker, and some of them lift their chins in a haughty manner, throwing disdainful glances at him, whispering to each other. Remus should be immune to scorn, but as he’s just leaned forward with his hands relaxed on his knees, he catches himself crossing his wrists, pushing the frayed cuffs of his ancient sweatshirt under the sleeves of the no less shabby robes. At least he doesn’t feel any flush on his face. Back when he was a student here, he seldom wore anything beneath his robes, but he’s felt such perpetual cold for years that he’s got too used to wearing all his clothes in layers. Perhaps after a few more days with square meals prepared by the most devoted elves serving here…

He’s managed to smile, shaking his head. “Parts of the second-year syllabus in Defence Against the Dark Arts are close to what Professor Hagrid teaches you. So-called Dark creatures. You’re luckier than students in some other years, because this is what I specialised in at Merlin College, Oxford.” They don’t need to hear now that this sub-field was all this sub-human was allowed to study of Defence beyond NEWT level.

Determined to garner some respect, he pulls out his wand and, feigning nonchalance, succeeds in focusing his mental strength and Summoning the textbook from the shelf voicelessly. “We’ll be following the book, but adding some experiments as well as discussions on the nature of the creatures introduced here.” 

“Experiments.” The dreamy voice draws Remus’s gaze to the end of the front row.

This Ravenclaw witch must have kept staring out of the window, as he has not met her wide open eyes before. And now they’ve been filled with the azure of the northern early autumn sky. Oh, how he’s missed…! A long forgotten urge to paint a portrait and to include the whole landscape in it returns in a rush, and Remus hears himself, too, repeat, “Experiments…”

The girl tilts her head, and an origami bird dangling from her ear touches the corner of her mouth, probably tickles her, as she lifts a finger for scratching while she examines her teacher from head to toe with unabashed curiosity, or perhaps something worse – concern, or compassion.

Aware of the sorry state of his shoes, more embarrassed than when the Slytherins snickered at him, Remus grins. “Yes. Practical lessons!”

Now there are some moderate woohoos, and encouraged by them, Remus jumps down from the desk and strides behind it. “We’re starting small,” he says, before forming silently the words of the Summoning.

No true wordless magic, let alone wandless, like that developed out of need and its power by those that are not educated witches and wizards. He’s hardly learnt simple tricks in such magic, and if he’s got any strengths they are in his skills of interaction with creatures, human children included.

The small cage arrives, already uncovered, and he guides it to land on the desk, wagging his left forefinger playfully to the pair of garish blue pixies. They grimace at him and start jabbering.

“Perhaps you know these creatures’ name. If you’ve taken a look at the first chapter… Yes, Mr…?”

“Brown, Sir! No, Sir, I haven’t. My sister Lavender said that last year there was a cage full of Cornish pixies and they destroyed everything in the classroom.”

“Brown still expected a cageful?” A theatre whisper rings clear enough from the back row. “This Prof’s not like Lockhart. Can’t afford more than two.”

Remus surprises even himself by chuckling, genuinely amused. When he felt awkward, arriving at the staff table to join some of those who had been his teachers, he found, to his equal astonishment, Snape’s sullen face a welcome sight. When out of the mates, rivals and foes, only the two of them are left, perhaps they could have a new beginning and finally develop some of the closeness promised by the connection they’d shared upon their very first arrival, in their nervous whispering before their Sorting – two pale, sickly boys, secretly dreaming of friends as well as skills which would better their chances in life. And now Snape – Severus – curled his lips into something akin a smile, like when in their seventh year pressing against him in the woods, even if only to revenge on… And compared him with his immediate predecessor, expressing a relief that when this year they wouldn’t be dazzled by any more competence, their eyes were also saved from any flashy wardrobe. 

“Professor Lockhart probably wanted to demonstrate what happens when pixies are provoked or just treated unwisely. Cornish pixies mate for life and get more irritable if too many pairs are attracted by human population to settle in a small area so that their territories overlap. Can someone remember or find now in the first chapter an example of why we must be wary when meeting a pixie. Yes, Miss…?”

“Goldstein. A pixie can lift you to the top of a tree.”

As their own response, the pixies rattle the cage.

“Excellent, thank you! But the pixie will leave you up there only if you show anger or fear. It is true that pixies are pranksters. But – and I hope you won’t find this boring and disappointing – they are not evil, although, among other creatures included in this book, they’ve been labelled Dark. If you remain calm, give the impression that you feel comfortable, or even laugh, the pixie will laugh with you, not at you. And bring you down safely. Mind, I don’t mean that I approve of any bullying by humans or such human-like creatures who can learn better. Pixies are inclined to be bullies, and the way to deal with them is understanding this.”

His voice has turned hoarse, perhaps of emotion, perhaps due to the howling of the night before previous. But this lecture on pranksters has captured his audience’s interest, and when he realises that there’s a perfect chance for a generalisation, he’s thrilled that they’ll really listen. 

“All best defence is based on understanding. Not on approving what is wrong. But understanding.”

Remus smiles first to the pixies, who, now quiet, stare at him. 

“Who wants to be the first to make closer acquaintance of a pixie?” When posing this question he can no longer resist turning towards the window and meeting the eyes like open skies.

She hasn’t lifted her hand but, caressing a wing on her origami bird, instead, she nods to him solemnly.

“You are willing, Miss…?”

“Luna,” she says dreamily, startling him, making him suspect for a moment that she has seen him too clearly and is starting to talk about the moon. “Lovegood,” she adds, “Yes. I haven’t been flying inside a classroom before.”

“I’m glad you’re eager to try it, Miss Lovegood. Please come here to the front, close to the tall wardrobe.”

Her quick approach makes him feel strangely shy, and he focuses on the pixies. Having moved the cage closer to her, he checks that they’ve fixed their attention on her. As soon as he opens the little door, the two small, bright, wingless creatures dash out.

The lovely, curious girl has spread her arms to welcome them, and they fly to her armpits. As they start lifting her, she giggles, tickled and excited, and the whole class of Ravenclaws and Slytherins laugh together with her. 

Perched on the top of the wardrobe, she’s already sure she’ll get another lift when she wants to come down. “We are lucky to have you, Professor Lupin.”

“A wych-elm, with teardrop-shaped leaves.” Remus’s own voice, hoarse at the end of his first day of teaching, almost manages to hush the enthralling one of the sixteen-year-old boy in his mind.

He turns away from the image of the graceful head tilted so that a lock of black hair covers one eye, from the proud and bold smile of the city boy with a traumatic childhood who was determined to learn more about the wonders of nature and of loving touch. Now this should help Remus sober up: staring at the dark canopy of mature foliage, which has replaced the lemon-coloured lace of May blossoms.

Having reached out his hand, as if to pat someone’s shoulder, perhaps to draw a finger along an eyebrow, Remus strokes the trunk, examining the lowest, almost horizontal branch. This was his favourite perch back then, and before, full two decades ago, on his solitary escapades to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and when he was covertly seeking solace in Amelia’s timid caresses before he realised whom he truly wanted – not only as a Marauder mate.

No, he can’t banish the ghost of… the ghosts of any of the mates he lost, while he’s the lucky one to truly be back here. Through all these twelve years he’s known that another one of them is not dead, but he’s gradually learnt to mourn the boy who must have still loved him, loved them all. Now he can’t afford that. Now he can only hope that the fugitive will not come back here, and should he come, be prepared to banish him – to urge him to go away, leave James’s son alone and go…

Remus leans his back against the trunk, wishing he dared close his eyes. He’s being melodramatic. But it is reasonable to keep scanning the landscape. He must stop sweet memories and hallucinations from surfacing again to break his resolution, and also stay alert for what might appear in its solid form. It is possible that a big black dog approaches him right here one day.

Incredible as it is, Dumbledore has never figured out how Remus’s three best friends learnt to change when determined to ease his pain as well as to seriously break rules and to achieve something extraordinary. Or if he knows about these illegal Animagi, he’s even more cunning than Remus has known him to be ever since finding out that he’d accepted a werewolf child to Hogwarts only in order to use him in an experiment, not to even try to give him the status of a wizard.

The old resentment makes Remus turn and hit his palm hard against the trunk. He despises himself for giving Dumbledore reason to believe he’s grateful for being accepted here now. If Dumbledore gave a fuck about his well-being, he’d have managed to take better care of it during the war and right after it, despite this part-human’s pride and desperate urge for independence. 

Bloody Dumbledore, uncannily aware of his return to the country, coming to ask those questions, as if not knowing too much! Is he looking for you? Are you looking for him? How could Remus possibly answer. And Dumbledore hasn’t said what he expects. He knows they were lovers. Back then Remus himself was not so sure if and how he knew, but… This must be an advantage when planning how to use Remus again.

Of course, he couldn’t resist the offer. He’s too sentimental. He’s missed this home. Any home. He’s been too poor for too long. Now he’s too old and tired to sleep rough even with a kind man for whom it’s an adventure to share the life of a vagabond with him.

Omar was kind enough to fly him to London on the carpet as soon as he’d seen the headline in the Prophet, which that Cretan newsagent kept available to serve British tourists. Remus knew immediately that he had to come back. His past had come crashing back on him.

With his gaze sliding across the Hogwarts grounds, caressing the dimming shades of green, he sits down, not bothered by the dampness of the ground, as he knows there’s a warm bed waiting for him. Now the years of drifting, years of desperation and recovery seem like a meaningless interlude. But he must draw strength from them.

That’s less hard when he’s got this job. Yes, he is lucky to have this chance to make use of what he’s learnt over the years – about teaching and about creatures. And it’s all easier now that he knows there’s someone among the students – the fascinating, luminous young witch – who believes he’s got something to offer.


End file.
